Wallflowers
(the story of Patrick)
by Shon Houston
The song fades.
Everything we are, falls to our ankles
inches above our socks.
The argyle of your hands
don't fit the argyle of my hands,
so after we return to our table let's not say anything
just quietly remember what happened up until this point.
Remember that we fit somewhere together once.
Remember that you were the sun to my moon
and that we took up a sky. A night.
(French Translation)
A Night in Tunisia
our favorite piece of peace this world has ever granted us without some kind of storm
brewing softly in the background or owning up to
that moment when someones fist meets someones face.
What a wrecking ball that makes you.
What a man.
What of men who can't claim their love?
What if we're gay
And your dad finds out?
Without us saying a word
you changed almost immediately.
Shed your cocoon and became the most beautiful heterosexual
butterfly I had ever seen.
The next day at school,
you called me "faggot" in front of everyone
I smiled because you and I both knew
that we'd be dancing together tonight.
Like nothing had happened.
Like my jaw was not a fragile heart.
Like the people watching us weren't the same people watching us at school that day
laughing at your bravado.
But not seeing courage in the story your stance told.
Is there not love in our eyes
because there is a switch to our hips?
Tell me.
Tell me you don't feel the way I did?
Tell me that tonight meant nothing, our lips meant nothing,
that our honesty was not measured by how often we said nothing after our
"I love yous"
but that we said "I love you" at all.
Don't answer,
just remain silent like always. Too afraid, too petrified and human.
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